For the Love of the Human

on heroes and hearts

Alexei Anatolyevich Navalny— Russian opposition leader, anti-corruption activist, and political prisoner— died in solitary confinement this year. Navalny’s memoir Patriot, comprised of his prison diaries, was released today. 

Photo by Martin Schoeller for The New Yorker

In his memoir, Navalny describes his bleak prison experience with humor, verve, and tenacity. He quips: “Some people collect stamps. Some collect coins. And I have a growing collection of amazing court trials.” Despite enduring freezing temperatures, hard labor, solitary confinement, fraudulent charges, the presence of a certified psychopath as his blockmate, and the certainty that “I will spend the rest of my life in prison and die here,” Navalny remains upbeat.

On his birthday, Navalny wonders: “Am I really in a good mood, or do I force myself to feel that way?” He answers:

“My answer is, I really am. Let’s face it, of course I wish I didn’t have to wake up in this hellhole and could, instead, have breakfast with my family, receive kisses on the cheek from my children, unwrap presents, and say, ‘Wow, this is exactly what I dreamed of!’ But life works in such a way that social progress and a better future can be achieved only if a certain number of people are willing to pay the price for their right to have their own beliefs. The more of them there are, the less everyone has to pay. And the day will come when speaking the truth and advocating for justice will be commonplace and not dangerous in Russia.”

In Patriot, Navalny also responds to the question he’s been asked most frequently: why did he return to Russia shortly after being poisoned by the FSB, when he could have remained safely in exile in Germany? His reply:

“This landscape has implanted cynicism and conspiracy theories so deeply in society that people inherently distrust straightforward motives [...] Because, in politics, nothing is as straightforward as it appears.

But there are no secrets or twisted meanings. Everything really is that simple.

I have my country and my convictions. I don’t want to give up my country or betray it. If your convictions mean something, you must be prepared to stand up for them and make sacrifices if necessary [...]. 

I took part in elections and vied for leadership positions. The call for me is different. I traveled the length and breadth of the country, declaring everywhere from the stage, ‘I promise that I won’t let you down, I won’t deceive you, and I won’t abandon you.’ By coming back to Russia, I fulfilled my promise to the voters. There need to be some people in Russia who don’t lie to them.

It turned out that, in Russia, to defend the right to have and not to hide your beliefs, you have to pay by sitting in a solitary cell. Of course, I don’t like being there. But I will not give up either my ideas or my homeland.”

This man is a hero if ever there was one. In a political arena notable for its lack of heroes, Navalny exhibits astonishing probity and dignity. Navalny’s spirit transcended an entire totalitarian regime: a spirit unwavering in the face of death and unbroken by death. 

Now, my own spirit is filled with thoughts of Navalny. We live in a world where sincerity is disarming and kindness radical. In the United States, we are in the final throes of an election featuring a candidate who continuously erodes the norms of human decency. Recently, The New Yorker critic Adam Gopnik observed “that one generation’s most vulgar entertainment becomes the next generation’s accepted style of political argument.” Gopnik writes of Trump: “He will tell another lie so preposterous, or malign another shared decency so absolutely, or threaten violence so plausibly, or just engage in behavior so unhinged and hate-filled that you’ll recoil and rebound to your original terror at his return to power. One outrage succeeds another until we become exhausted and have to work hard even to remember the outrages of a few weeks past.”

Perhaps this incremental acceptance of humanity’s basest impulses is why Navalny’s steadfast zeal feels like a jolt of life. When I witness Navalny’s conviction, I am reminded of humanity’s promise and power. I feel buttressed by the possibility of the human spirit. 

In this season of spell-casting, let us become prophecy. Let us embody all that is mythic within us, by following Navalny’s example in expanding human potential. Let us astound each other with grace. 

We can allow ourselves to be truly known, and make space to truly know others. We can combat this era of cynicism and division with the infinite horizon of the human heart. It takes great vigilance and courage to Love in a broken world. As I’ve written before, we can Love the virulent aspects of humanity without tolerating or passively accepting them. We can Love, and then we can fight from a place of Love— a place resourced and indignant and active, but not afraid in the way these shuttered, sickened hearts are so painfully, palpably afraid. We can demonstrate just how impossible it is to tame the unbridled human heart, with its volcanic inevitability and its unruly chorus. 

We are aching for connection. We are aching for truth. We are aching for an experience of revelation that cannot be conjured by any of our manufactured conveniences. And— here’s the best part— we are already armed with all the tools we need to create the world we know is possible. Curiosity is humanity’s appetite. Love is humanity’s amulet. 

Last week, my heart-ripening experience of Navalny’s writing was paired with another inspirational experience while hiking with my dad in the American southwest. As we drove through rust-colored canyons, we listened to the final song from Hair with its insistent chorus: “let the sunshine / let the sunshine in”. This is the kind of Love I mean: wailing, savage, luminous, and unmistakable in its hope. In a moment I will remember for the rest of my life, my dad and I became overwhelmed by the combination of music and topographic majesty. My dad pulled over to the side of the dirt road and hugged me with tears in his eyes. He murmured: “If this election goes south, I’ll want to just give up. But I can’t give up when people keep making art like this.” The human experience is a perpetual trust fall, in which we must act as one another’s footholds. We are our own way back to one another.

So, as we approach this high-stakes election, remember that you are Navalny’s kin. You have a pliable heart. You have a free mind. You have an unbroken will. Do not house-train what was always meant to be wild: a soul that will canter as far as you dare deploy it. 

Prove what is possible for the Human. Prove our Love. Prove our Art. Prove our Courage. Prove our Resilience. 

And for the love of God— for the love of Earth— for the love of Human— Vote.

Sefa Karacan / Anadolu Agency / Getty Images via The Atlantic

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